


'Til The Last Drop

by Staleina



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Drinking, F/M, Lost Love, Some light combat., Spoilers, i can't tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:19:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4051219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staleina/pseuds/Staleina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a long time overdue prompt for JennyFever/Gethbecomesher, for her birthday which was May 31st.<br/>Hope you like it :D</p><p>This is post game.<br/>Fenris gets the letter from Varric explaining that Hawke died in the Fade.<br/>Fenris goes to Skyhold with the intention of killing the Inquisitor (Jenn's), but upon finding an Inquisitor that deals with her own pain much the same way as he does...they end up finding comfort in each other instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drown My Tears

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gethbecomesher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gethbecomesher/gifts).



> Thank you to everyone that helped read this over for me while I was in a mad rush to get it done.  
> Particularly Calypsid for being ever patient with me and my terrible fragmented sentences and Cipher for adding insight.

~*~ Chapter 1: Drown My Tears ~*~

Fenris froze as he finished reading the letter. All the colour had drained from his face as Isabela watched him from across the room of Hawke’s foyer. They had both taken up residence in Hawke’s estate while Hawke was away, staying there along with Bodahn, Sandal and Orana.

“Well, what did Varric have to say?” Isabela asked expectantly.

Fenris didn’t answer.

“Don’t make me come over there and snatch it from you, sweetness.”

His hand started to tremble, his fingertips hardly holding the pages.

“Fenris?”

Isabela’s brows stitched together while she approached him slowly, much like she was preparing to disarm an unstable trap.

Other than the shaking, the elf didn’t move. He looked like a porcelain statue, white as a sheet and as if he could break at any moment. He stared at the page, his eyes seeming distant as if he no longer saw the words written across it.

Delicately, with practiced precision from pickpocketing people for years, Isabela slipped the letter from Fenris’ fingertips. He made no motion against her, no sound other than halting breaths as she stepped away slowly in case he were to lash out at any sudden movement.

Once she felt she’d reached a relatively safe distance, she read the letter. Her head started to shake back and forth with disbelief as she absorbed the information, as if denying every word. “This can’t be right, it can’t be...”

Her eyes drifted back up to look at Fenris as she bit her tongue. She was unsure if he was going to snap and destroy everything in sight or break down into tears. Either reaction would have been understandable, but she would like to be out of the way for the former. Though she suspected that if what was in the letter was correct, he wouldn’t dare destroy a single thing in the manse.

“Varric wouldn’t lie, not about this.” His normal steady tone cracked at the last word, his head dropping into his hands. His nails digging into his scalp so hard that she could swear she could see red staining the white strands of hair tangled around his fingers.

“Sweetness...” She wanted to comfort her friend and find comfort in return. After all, Hawke was her friend as well. But she was no good when it came to emotions and she definitely didn’t want to risk triggering him if he wanted to lash out.

Her survival instincts won out…

“I’ll be right back, I promise. I need to tell the others. I’ll ask Orana to fetch you something to eat...just, stay put for now. Alright?” She slipped out the door quickly, leaving the letter behind and made her way to the kitchens where she spotted Bodahn, Orana and Sandal.

Sandal was up on a stepping stool, tending to a stew while Orana was kneading some bread. Bodahn was counting coins at the table, sorting out some account or another.

“ ‘Allo Capt’n Isabela, how may we help you this evenin’?” Bodahn spoke before he’d fully looked up. Though once he did he paused… “Is everythin’ alright? You look as if you’d seen a ghost.”

Orana’s eyes were wide as she stepped up beside Isabela, gesturing for her to sit down.

Isabela shook her head; she’d rather stand.

Sandal just grinned contentedly, stirring the pot of stew, not taking notice of what was going on behind him.

“Fenris got a letter today, about Hawke…”

At that, Sandal turned to look at her. He held the ladle in his hand as he did, unaware of the bits and pieces of stew that dropped from it in the process. Bits of stew plopping down onto the floor.

Three sets of eyes were fixated on her then, Orana and Bodahn both looking worried while Sandal seemed hopeful as always. Isabela swallowed hard, her eyes looking down and to her right.

“Hawke is...dead. Varric didn’t go into specifics, but there was a battle with a nightmare demon and well…she didn’t make it out.” She made a motion as if to brush hair back from her eye to hide the fact she was starting to cry. “Fenris is still in the foyer. Could you bring him some food and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself? Just...be careful.”

Sandal’s smile had gone, his eyes drifting over everyone’s faces as he tried to grasp the situation. Tears were already streaming down Orana’s face, a hand moving to brace herself against the wall for support. Bodahn’s lips were tight and he nodded, accepting the information. This wasn’t the first time someone he knew well or served had died. He would be strong for his boy and for the girl he saw as his own daughter as well. “We’ll watch him, don’t you worry about that.”

“I need to go tell Aveline and Merrill, they’ll want to know. Then we can find Bethany…and...” She turned her head away, her voice breaking. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

She slipped out before anyone could stop her, letting the darkness of the night hide her tears.

~*~

Isabella had decided to go to Aveline first. Whether she liked to admit it or not, Aveline was her closest friend. As much as she was fond of the broody elf, Aveline understood her in ways she wouldn’t want to admit and Aveline was the strongest one out of all of them, particularly now that...well. She needed that strength now.

Of course, the guardsmen knew Isabela already, either by reputation or experience. Most that lived in the barracks already knew her friendship with Aveline and allowed her into the Keep without objection, even if a few of them either gave her looks of appraisal or disapproval. When she reached Aveline’s door, she rapped her knuckles on it and waited.

“Come in, Isabela.”

“How do you always know it’s me?” she asked as she entered, a swagger in her step.

“You knock like someone who’s used to either barging in or picking the lock.”

“You only say that because you know me.” The corner of her lip curled up in a mischievous smile.

“I do know you. Now lock the door and sit down…”

“It wasn’t locked before I got here. Afraid your guards will catch you with a slattern?”

“I knew you’d be coming…and they already know I spend too much time with a slattern.”

Isabela sat at a chair that was to the side of Aveline’s desk. She would have thought nothing was amiss if it was not for the open letter flipped over on the desk and a glass of spirits in Aveline’s hand. She never drank on the job.

“So you’ve heard.” Isabela’s voice went flat, her eyes focused on the glass.

“Yes. Varric sent me a letter and told me he’d written one to Fenris as well. I suppose he wanted me to have fair warning in case things went awry.” She poured a glass for Isabela and handed it to her. Isabela accepted it without hesitation. “I’ve already sent additional guards to patrol around the Amell estate and they’ll report back if he takes a step out of the place while another one tails him.”

“You work quickly for an old girl.” She finished the rest of her glass as her mind visualized Fenris noticing the guards. He’d either kill them or boil in anger that they’d think he’d need watching.

“I’ve had plenty of practice with you lot. Not that that’s a good thing.” She sighed, though not because of the extra work the Kirkwall Crew had given her over the years. “How is he?”

“He’s in shock, he wasn’t moving when I left. Poor thing...”

“At least he’ll be still for a little while, it’ll give us time to prepare for the oncoming storm.”

She sipped her drink, then let her eyes drift to the pages on her desk. “That was one hell of a way to go.”

“Hold on. Varric told you how? He only wrote that there was a demon involved in our letter, no gory details.”

“He told me a great deal more….” She gestured to what looked like a five page letter.

“We might have to shackle Fenris for awhile, or he might try to take on the whole Inquisition.”

“I don’t think he’d agree to that. He doesn’t seem the type.”

“No, he wouldn’t. Nor could we keep him in them I’m afraid.”

“Maybe Merrill will know how we could keep him in check. Or Bethany...he likes her enough, he might listen to her. If all else fails, we can knock him out, sail somewhere and drop him off on a deserted island.”

“I doubt Bethany will be in any state to help us calm him once the shock wears off. The rest of that sounds like something out of one of Varric’s novels.”

Once they’d both finished their glasses, Aveline took them and tucked them away with the bottle in a locked drawer of her desk.

“I guess now is as good of a time as ever. Let’s go tell them.” Aveline pushed up out of her chair, her face sullen.

“Do you think Choir Boy knows?”

“Varric sent him a letter.”

“He’ll find his comfort in the Maker or something else just as boring. At least that’s one less trip we’ll have to make.”

“Oh Isabela. It’s not like we would have gone to see him anyway. You’d have to buy some pants before we’d be allowed in his court.”

~*~

Merrill had been easy to tell, in a manner of speaking. She’d taken the news relatively well, though she insisted that Varric could be wrong and Hawke could still be in the Fade. Because of that, they’d decided it was best to tell Bethany without Merrill, for fear that she’d instill false hope and confuse the poor girl. Last thing they needed was Merrill asking Bethany for some of her blood so she could use it to find Hawke in the Fade just in case Hawke was still alive.

Bethany, on the other hand, was not. Isabela would never be able to forget the way that Bethany’s smile cracked the moment she saw the looks on their faces once the templar had left them alone in the visitation area. Seeing the way Bethany’s cheerful nature was sucked out of her body while she slumped into the nearest chair crushed Isabela’s core.

This was not the sort of news she wanted to give a friend, much less one that she held so close to her heart. Bethany’s eyes seemed to drain of life with each word that came out of their mouths while she stared in silence at a spot on the floor a few paces in front of her while Aveline relayed the information to her as kindly as she could. Aveline was accustomed to telling families bad news, but she struggled to find the words when it came to Bethany and Hawke. All Isabela could do was stroke her hair and hold her once she finally allowed herself to cry into Isabela’s shoulder.

After they left, Isabela took a few moments with one of the templars to explain the situation. They’d agreed to allow her to have regular visits with the young mage. They’d also allow her a few books during her time of grieving provided they weren’t too inappropriate and she would be given a black band to wear around one of her sleeves so others would understand her state and allow her privacy to mourn.

It was the best they could do under the circumstances. The fear of mages was far too strong in Kirkwall now, particularly after Anders’ folly. There was some concern over what a grieving mage would do as well as worry about how the people would take advantage of a mage in such a weakened state. There was too much risk that she’d be harmed while walking the streets, so it was decided she would stay there in their care.

The hour was late when they got back to the Amell estate. Everyone having decided that that was where they would stay for at least a couple of weeks. So they could comfort each other as well as keep an eye on Fenris. Aveline only had them take one detour on the way there so she could grab some things from home and let Donnic know where she’d be.

When they arrived, Fenris was not in the foyer. Instead they found him in Hawke’s room, sitting in a chair by the fireplace, wrapped in her blanket with an open bottle of wine clutched tightly in his hand. He did not look up when they opened the door, he did not even acknowledge them.

Aveline waved the others to go back downstairs; meanwhile she proceeded into the room.

Isabela left Aveline behind with Fernis, while she went to go see what Orana and Bodahn had been up to while she was gone. Perhaps the stew was ready to eat and the fresh loaves sliced up to be eaten along with it.

Aveline found another chair and sat down a few feet away from him. Her eyes scanned the room, noticing the other bottles he seemed to have dragged up in preparation for many nights of drinking. He’d already finished one and was halfway through the one in his hand.

She could see a letter on the bedside table which must have been the one from Varric. Random spots on it seemed bevelled on the paper instead of flat like the rest, indicating they’d been damp earlier and dried incorrectly. The edges of the paper were already worn from being handled repeatedly.

No words or actions could change how they felt or what had happened. Hawke had died a warrior's death, as any fighter would have wanted. So they would mourn as warriors do, in sullen inebriated silence. This was going to be a long night.

~*~

A year had passed and Fenris hadn’t made a move to leave; he merely stayed slumped in his chair, drinking, while Bodahn, Sandal and Orana tended to him and the estate.

Aveline was forced to loosen her grip from around the manse, designating the extra guard to other patrols wherever they were needed. Kirkwall was still in shambles and guards couldn’t be kept off their regular routes for long without people noticing and crime rising in response. They were the city guard after all, not hers, even if she was their Captain.

Isabela, after having drank and slept her way through her mourning period, had gotten restless. She wasn’t made for dry land and yearned for the high seas. Watching the ghost of the warrior she once knew drink himself into oblivion was doing nothing for her morale either. So she did what she did best and slipped out with a promise she’d return with riches and stories to share before he’d even know she was gone.

Merrill had been forbidden from seeing Fenris for as long as she’d believed Hawke was still alive. So she kept her distance, although he did find a potted crystal grace flower on his windowsill one morning as well as a ball of twine.

As the news spread, flowers were often left at the estate’s entrance from those that missed the Champion of Kirkwall. Bodahn did his best at accepting words of consolation while turning those away that wanted to come in, while Orana arranged the flowers in the entrance around a portrait of Hawke.

The silent rhythm of the house was unchanged until they stepped in one night to see Fenris standing there, a pack slung over his shoulder, staring at the painting with a folded piece of paper held tightly in his hand.

“Messere?”

“I’m going to Skyhold, Varric is there. I’ve written him a letter.” He did not lie, he just hadn’t sent it yet.

“Do you wish me to tell the others, messere?”

“There is no need.” He let Bodahn assume he’d already told them.

With that, he was gone.


	2. With Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold has a visitor.

~*~ Chapter 2: With Wine ~*~

Varric was surprised when he read the letter the runner had brought him. He recognized the writing. The letter didn’t seem to be written in casually, like someone that had been writing all of their life. Instead the words looked like the writer went through painstaking lengths to write each letter perfectly.

_Varric,_

_I will hear the details directly from you._

_-Fenris._

 

“Shit…”

How long ago had Fenris sent the letter? How long would it have taken to get to him by raven? Knowing Fenris, he would have sent it just before he stepped out the door which gave Varric only so much time to prepare.

The Inquisitor had not been accepting visitors ever since they defeated Corypheus. She’d locked herself away from all but a select few. Only her servants were ever allowed into her chambers and occasionally The Iron Bull. Tiny seemed to be keeping a tight lip, for once.

Varric was turned away by the guard at the door. The servants wouldn’t look at him directly and he strongly suspected they were either trained or threatened by Leliana to keep silent about whatever was going on upstairs.

Regardless, he stopped one of them as she was about to head to the Inquisitor's chambers and told her to relay a simple message for him: “Fenris is coming, he’s not happy.”

He tried to talk to Josephine, but she was wrapped up with a meeting with a few nobles. All of which were livid that after their long journey that the Inquisitor was indisposed.

Leliana was surrounded by her nightingales, discussing something about Starkhaven. He resisted the temptation to try to listen in, making a note to ask her about it later. He had more important matters to deal with and he didn’t feel like receiving a dagger in the ear.

He shuffled back down the stairwell, cursing them with each step. Why Skyhold needed so many stairs he had no idea. What was wrong with ramps and a longer lay out instead of tall for buildings? They’re just asking for someone to trip and break their necks.

Fortunately the ramparts leading to the Commander’s office were reasonably flat and Cullen would be more than understanding when it came to explaining the potential dangers of having Fenris in Skyhold.

~*~ 

It was easy enough to get past the gates. He was just another elf clothed in ragged attire. He wore old gloves, a scarf which concealed the markings on his neck and chin and a hood that he pulled over his head, hiding his dyed black hair. All of which could easily be explained away by wanting to dress for the elements.

He slouched as he walked and kept his head tilted downward like a downtrodden city elf would. When they asked him questions, he answered in half sentences, never making eye contact and using simple words to give them the impression of a simple education.

He purposefully put himself in the line that led to a set of guards that seemed to have a particular level of disdain for “knife-ears”. As much as he hated those that deemed him lesser for his race, it gave him a particular advantage to be seen as “lesser” and not worth paying attention to.

“Your name?”

“Leto, ser.”

“Why are you here?”

“Honest work, ser.”

“What can you do?”

_Rip your heart out from your flesh so swiftly that you could see its final pulse before you take your dying breath._

“I can maintain armor and weapons, ser. Lift a fair bit. Worked with a smithy.” It was an easy lie to tell, even though it was not completely inaccurate. He knew how to maintain gear since he’d had to maintain his own and surely they needed servants to keep all theirs clean and polished.

The guard grunted. Fenris made sure to look down and away when the guard looked at him, ensuring he seemed subservient and smaller than he really was.

“Alright, head to the Quartermaster’s. Show the folks by the gate this paper and they’ll direct you to where you’ll work and sleep.”

The man handed Fenris a slip and waved him off as one would a fly, giving the elf no further consideration.

Of course, it had been two weeks since Fenris had entered Skyhold by those means. Taking up his position in the armory maintaining gear he learned the inner workings of Skyhold. No one questioned him for dressing heavily and always wearing a cap, gloves and scarf. The air was cold and his sensitivity to it was easily explained by him stating he was from a warmer climate, which meant he had an excuse for covering up every bit of flesh that he could.

He’d seen Varric a few times through the window where he worked. He made a point to watch him only through the corner of his eye and keeping his head down. It wasn’t until the last day where he saw Varric darting around Skyhold with a purpose that he knew he had to move; obviously his delayed letter had had its intended effect on the dwarf. With Varric distracted with the news of him heading to Skyhold, he could proceed with his plan while Varric made preparations expecting him not to arrive until a later date.

Honestly, sneaking about was never anything he was good at. But having been left alone with Isabela for so long, he’d learned a few tricks. Sometimes...deception was better. Such as him having told Aveline that he’d sent word to Varric that he’d be coming to Skyhold for a change of scenery, to get out of the mansion that reminded him of Hawke. That way, she would not feel the need to write Varric herself and warn him. He left a note for Isabela that he would send word if anyone was worthy of her interest there to let her believe he intended on coming back, when really none of it was true.

It wasn’t long before he’d got the lay of the land. Nothing spread gossip more than an idle army. He’d learned who the closest companions of the Inquisitor were, where they spent their time, and even who bedded whom.

He didn’t even have to ask. Far too many of them talked too loudly while they worked or when they drank and most never thought to keep their mouths shut around the stranger. Soon enough he’d learned that the Inquisitors room was on the fourth floor and the one that overlooked the Herald’s Rest, that there was a wall in the corridor of the Ambassador’s room that was scheduled for repair and that the door leading to the stairwell for the Inquisitor’s quarters was to the left of the throne.

Obviously they had become far too relaxed since Corypheus’ defeat. Far too many of the more green soldiers had not learned the lesson that wars are rarely ever over and that your friend can often be your greatest enemy. That was a lesson that the Kirkwall crew had learned a bit too late as well. _Anders…_

Thinking of that rebel mage made Fenris’ lip curl reactively, but it also gave him an idea.

His greatest problem was getting past the men guarding the door to the Inquisitor’s stairwell without attracting attention to himself. The door itself wasn’t a problem, doors rarely were, but people would notice a lyrium ghost if they were looking his way. He needed a distraction. Slowly and quietly, he began to collect the materials he needed.

~*~

He heard the crash accompanied by a small blast and people screaming.

“FIRE!!!!!!”

“What are you waiting for! Get some water!”

“VESHANTE KAFFAS! Leave the ravens, Leliana!”

Shouts were heard through the hall, a blaze seen through the door to the rotunda and smoke billowing up to the floors above.

Within moments, people were rushing to the well outside, grabbing bucket after bucket and filling them with water before rushing back in, others simply did their best to get out of the way.

Even the guard by the door to the Inquisitor’s room had rushed forward to see what the commotion was about. With all the chaos, no one noticed the one elf that came up the stairwell with two pails of water and a scarf covering his face, presumably to block out the smoke from entering his lungs. No one noticed how he passed the buckets off to the guard, acting as if he was too afraid to approach the fire, then slipped behind him to the door.

After all, he was just another elf.

It was simple enough for him to merely step past the door once he’d realized it was locked.

Once he was sure all eyes were distracted looking at the fire, he phased through the door, sneering as he thought of how foolish the people Hawke died for were. They were pathetic people, easily sent into a panic over a simple controlled fire which was made to cause a distraction, not actually do any damage. The ingredients he had used were to make an eye irritating billowing smoke, not spread a flame. All that could have burned in that room was the couch, scaffolding and a desk; if any of them had been calm they would have realized all they had to do was prevent the floors above from catching fire. _Fools_ …

He scaled the steps slowly, listening carefully for anyone that may be guarding the stairwell further up but heard nothing. He should have felt relief, but instead he felt disappointment. The lack of security was almost an insult to someone who once took pride in keeping someone safe.

The room to her chambers wasn’t even locked; the door opened easily enough for him to see yet another flight of stairs in front of him. Perhaps the Inquisition felt no assassin would bother climbing what seemed a thousand stairs to get to a target, or any that didn’t give up would have at least earned a chance at the Inquisitor.

It was dark; his elven eyes adjusted to the dim lighting easily as they scanned the room for his target while he reached to his side to pull out the long sword he’d borrowed from the armory and hidden beneath his cloak.

The room looked as if there had been a battle fought in it already since there were flipped tables, chairs tipped over and the sheets were torn from the bed. The pungent smell of spilled alcohol hit his senses, pulling his attention to the spilled bottles of wine strewn all over the floor around the fire place. There was evidence of a shattered bottle near a far wall. For a moment, he felt as if he was back at his old mansion, back before he’d moved into the Amell estate.

_An Inquisition full of fools, lead by a drunk. Hawke, why waste your life for this?_

He stepped carefully across the floor, looking for evidence of where she was. The balconies outside, the side rooms, but he saw nothing. It wasn’t until he heard the _ssshlliiiiick_ sound of an arrow being pulled back that he thought to look up.

There Allara Lavellan stood, an arrow aimed right at his head, standing on the floor above and well out of reach.  “How kind of you to visit.”

He wanted to lunge at her and bury his blade into her stomach. He wanted to twist it slowly while hearing her scream in pain so she could feel the way he’d felt since he heard that she’d abandoned his Hawke in the Fade.

He gripped the hilt of his blade, his eyes staring up at her.

“My name is Fenris. You killed my Hawke, prepare to die!!!!”

Something caused her to flinch just a moment before she spoke. “You can’t even reach me, much less kill me. I’d suggest dropping your weapon unless you’d like an arrow in your eye.”

He searched for a means to reach her when he spotted the ladder in the back room and made a break for it.

She loosed the arrow with practiced precision, its head burying itself deep into his shoulder. A satisfied smirk crossed her lips while she reached to notch another.

A curse escaped his lips as he reached the ladder, the pang of pain from the arrow shooting along his arm as he reached for a rung to pull himself up. Each rung sending a spasm through his left side as he climbed.

The moment he reached the upper floor he turned to face her again.

“My name is Fenris. You killed my Hawke, prepare to die!!!!”

“You already said that. I’d rather not kill one of Varric’s friends, but it’s your choice.”

He shifted his weight, taking a breath before he took another step towards her, teeth bared both at her and the injury in his shoulder.

It only took a few more steps before he saw her release a second arrow, this time through his foot and into the wood plank below while she leapt back in the air, landing so her back was against the far wall.

The pain shot up his leg like lightning. She’d effectively pinned him...or so she thought.

“Creators, are you still trying to kill me?” She pulled out a third arrow, preparing for her next shot.

He phase shifted his body, allowing him to move through the arrow, allowing the one from his shoulder to drop to the ground when his body phased. Only the trail of blood left behind him showed the path he took before he was on her, his blade knocking her bow to the side before pointed it at her chest, warning her to stay still.

“My name is -”

“Fenris. Yes, we covered this.” She looked down at his blade. “I didn’t kill Hawke, I’m preeeeetty sure that was the nightmare demon.”

“You are responsible for her death!” His tattoos lit up with his anger, a thrumming sound emanating from the lyrium that was laced into them.

“Hawke chose to stay behind so we could escape. I didn’t make her do anything!”

His eyes bore into hers, the fury still fueling him to hold the blade to her hard enough that it pressed through her clothes and blood started to show on the tip of the blade. A blue glow emanated from his other hand as it phased, preparing to strike her.

“I should strip the flesh from your bones for not bringing her back to me.”

“Go ahead and kill me if it will make you feel better, but it won’t bring her back.”

His phased hand clenched into a fist. He’d expected her to be a drunken coward, but she was no coward. He smelled the alcohol on her breath, but even inebriated she spoke the truth.

He withdrew the blade slowly as his hand re-materialized.

“It won’t.” His shoulders slouched and his head dropped, his dyed black hair falling forward to shield his face from her gaze.

Allara didn’t move until she saw his grip relax on the hilt of his sword. Once it did, she stepped away from him with a slight stumble to her gait. “Looks like you could use a drink…want one?”

He grumble a response, sheathing his sword and allowing his hand to move towards the wound in his shoulder.

“Alright, you wait here and be miserable. I’ll be back with a bottle and a poultice.”

While she walked off, he looked around. There were various bottles already around, all empty. Apparently she’d been drinking for days but was ready for his arrival. Somehow...she was warned.

He didn’t fail to notice the broken staff and stack of torn clothing in the corner, various tan coloured shirts and green...pants?

By the time she came back, Fenris had slumped down onto the floor, his back pressed against the wall. She handed him a bottle of wine while she clasped her own in her other hand.

“How have those clothes endeavored to offend you?”

She glanced at them and shrugged. “Someone left them behind when they left me. May as well put them to good use. It gets cold up here some nights.”

He arched a brow at her, uncorking his bottle and taking a long swig while she settled in next to him to tend to his wounds while keeping her weapons within reach. He’d heard enough gossip to know she’d had a lover and he had left her, there was no point in opening the wound by asking her further questions. She could tell him if she wanted to, but he would not pry further.

“She said she was sorry.” Allara said as she began to unbutton his shirt to get to his wound.

“What?” He paused, the mouth of his bottle stopped a few inches from his own.

“Hawke’s last words, she wanted me to tell you she was sorry.”

He tilted his head back, letting the back of it hit the wall behind him as he closed his eyes tightly.

“I should have been there. I would have taken her place.”

“Then it would be her bleeding on my floor instead.”

“Perhaps, but she would be alive at least...”

Iron Bull and Varric found them the next morning, passed out with empty bottles in hand. Allara on her bed and Fenris on the couch with bandages around his shoulder and foot while she had one one criss-crossing her chest.

Varric sighed. “Great, now I have two of them.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gethbecomes her loves the movie "The Princess Bride", the likenesses here were 100% intentional.


End file.
